


The Last Damn Job

by cakeisnotpie



Series: Clint and Phil White Collar AU [6]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Thieves, Alternate Universe - White Collar Fusion, Alternative Universe - FBI, Con Artists, F/M, M/M, TV Show, didn't see that coming?, finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-25 04:42:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10756929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: The game is afoot and it's time for Stane to get his comeuppance. Danger surrounds our heroes and they may never be the same.





	1. Unfinished Business

**Author's Note:**

> So the six story arch of my White Collar AU comes to a close. Like a TV series finale, this story brings some closure, but just might open the door to something new for our favorite characters. Glad you've all come along for the ride!

“.... that Stark Industries would no longer be making weapons. This surprise announcement caught everyone off guard, including Obediah Stane, the current CEO of the company.  In a statement issued shortly after Mr. Stark’s press conference, Stane attributed the decision to post traumatic stress and said that Mr. Stark would be getting the help he needed after his ordeal …”

 

Stane muted the sound and turned to the rest of the S.I. board members. Questions erupted, shouting mixed with murmuring. Raising his hand, Stane gained their attention. 

 

“Everyone calm down,” he said. “This company has weathered much worse than this. A little faith, people.” 

 

“Our stock is already tumbling,” James Coleman protested. “Stark Industries is THE name in munitions. If we drop that part of our business …”

 

“We’re not changing anything,” Stane assured him. “Look, Tony’s had a traumatic experience; hell, anyone of us held hostage by bastards like Raza would come back a little … different. I’ve already found a specialist in PTSD and made arrangements.”

 

“HIs face is all over the TV,” Angela McCarney said. “He got all of Howard’s foibles and none of his business acumen.” 

 

“He’s been a liability for years,” Roger Alfredson complained. “The sex scandals were bad enough, but this?” 

 

“Regardless of how he acts, Tony’s still a Stark and this is his father’s company. We need him to be the face of the company,” Amed Rahzmon argued. “It was Howard’s wish …” 

 

“Yes, yes, we know,” Coleman broke in. “But if Howard were here, he’d be the first to say the good of the company comes first.” 

 

“We can’t vote him out; the press would have a field day with the timing. Those pictures of half burned munitions with the SI mark ar bad enough,” McCarney insisted. 

 

“Bah. What happens to our product after we sell it, isn’t our concern. Raids happen all the time; doesn’t mean anything.” Alfredson leaned back in his chair. “But you have a point. What the boy needs is time to heal, get help … a leave of absence?” 

 

“Research sabbatical. To work on this green technology he’s talking about.” Rahzmon warmed to the idea. “A transition period for the company. Stark always has been on the cutting edge; we can turn this to our favor.” 

 

“What do you think, Stane? You’ve always supported the boy,” Coleman asked. 

 

“Now, you know I love Tony like my own son.  Being Howard’s son wasn’t easy.” He drawled the words. “And as much as I care about him, I care about this company.  Let me talk to Tony, see what I can get him to agree to.”

 

Everyone nodded; Stane hid his smile, enjoying the way they fell in line, thinking they were the ones making the decision.  When Tony got worse, drinking and acting out, they’d be happy, no damn grateful, when Stane had him committed to Betty Ford.  Some flakka in Tony’s favorite bottle of scotch and he’d be out-of-control; didn’t get any simpler than that.  With the new info Stane had on Barton and Coulson suspension soon to be a permanent dismissal, things were looking up.  Within the week, all the thorns in his side would be sheared and he’d have everything under control. 

* * *

 

“You’re sleeping with Barton.” Nick sipped his black coffee, not even waiting for it to cool. “Guess  Rogers wins the office pool. At least tell me he’s good enough in bed to risk your career over.” 

 

“Jesus, Nick.Say it a little louder, why don’t you?” Phil said, leaning forward over the small table. “And, to answer your question, yes. He’s worth it.” 

 

A long sigh and another sip; Nick studied Phil’s face, reading the familiar lines. “Aw, damn it,” he muttered. “That’s what I thought.” 

 

The noise of the street filtered through the open window of the diner; even this early in the morning, the taxis raced the stop lights and bikes rang their bells at slow moving pedestrians. Phil loved this city, the steady beat of life, and today he felt every thrum and shout, aware in a way he’d never been of the activity below the surface, the layers upon layers of humanity. 

 

“Rodriguez giving you a hard time?” he asked, changing the subject. He couldn’t talk about Clint, not yet. This tangle of emotions in his chest was too new. “I hear the Mayor’s putting pressure on her to solve this case.”

 

“His ‘good friend’ Obediah is just worried about the economic impact of such bad publicity.” Nick sneered. “The Mayor’s head is so far up Stane’s ass, he can see out of his mouth.” 

 

Phil snorted, dribbling a little coffee over the edge of his cup. “Stark Industries is a valuable ally in the revitalization of the city’s infrastructure.” He mimicked the Mayor’s favorite phrase. “Plus, Stane lets him win at golf.” 

 

“I hate motherfucking politicians,” Nick cursed. “Wouldn’t mind seeing Stane go down in flames, I can tell you.”

 

Nick shot him a pointed look; Phil ignored the opening.  More than anything, Nick needed to have plausible deniability about what was coming. “Me too, Nick. Me too.” 

 

A half-nod was the only answer Nick gave, letting Phil know he understood. “Well, you know what they say, the bigger they are …”

 

“...the harder they fall.” Phil raised his cup. “From your lips to God’s ears.” 

 

“Or someone’s,” Nick agreed. 

* * *

 

“Tony, what are you doing here?” Obediah came around his desk, his big frame filling the space, blocking Tony between the open door and the wall.  “You should be home, taking it easy.” 

 

Even though he’d prepared himself, or so he thought, Tony shrank back, the loss of space triggering shivers and short breaths. He tried to hide his reaction then remembered why he’d made this trip. With trembling fingers, he put a hand on Obediah’s shoulder, pushing him away as he closed in for a hug. 

 

“No touchy,” Tony said. “Not real fond of enclosed spaces right now, Obie.” 

 

“Oh, right, of course.” Obediah’s face showed concern that, once upon a time, Tony would have taken as sincere. “Pepper warned me about your … condition. I’m just glad to have you back.” 

 

Camera lens focused, tracking Tony as he walked across the office to pour himself some of Obediah’s scotch.  He gulped down a long swallow, watching Stane watching him in the window’s reflection. “Yeah, well, I know that’s horseshit, Obie. Right now, you probably wish I was still in that cave in Afghanistan.” 

 

Stane sputtered. “What the hell …?”

 

“Don’t try to tell me the board isn’t mad as hell and clamoring for my head on a platter. I can watch the ticker tape as well as the next guy.”  He didn’t expect it to hurt as much as it did to see the flicker of relief on Obediah’s face. The man had practically raised Tony after his father died, and even before when Howard was too busy with the company to be around. 

 

“I did get an earful this morning,” Stane admitted. “They’re concerned, and they have a right to be. S.I.’s the number one name in weapons; that division is what funds the rest of our projects.” 

 

“You of all people should know that a company that doesn’t change will become irrelevant.” Tony took another long drink; Obediah’s lips twitched as Tony topped off his glass. “Clean energy is the future; you’ve said yourself that we’ve got to diversify, get into emerging markets. That’s why we bought into Johtun, remember?” 

 

“Diversify, yes. A long slow changeover, not tossing the baby out with the bathwater,” Stane said, crossing the room and standing behind Tony, trapping him in front of the bureau without touching him. He waited until Tony had another drink before he took the glass out of his hand. “Enough. You don’t like that brand anyway.” 

 

“It’ll do.” Tony reached for the decanter, missed, and tried again.  Reeling slightly, he shuddered and pushed Stane away, moving to the center of the office. “We’re doing this, Obie. We’ll take a hit in the short run, but the good PR will tide us over until the first products are through production. Soon, Stark Industries will be the only name in clean energy.” 

 

Grabbing onto the arm of a chair. Tony listed to the left then righted himself. He blinked and crinkled his forehead, fingers rubbing at his temple. Catching his arm, Obediah helped him lean against the massive desk in the center of the space. 

 

“Damn it Tony, you need to get help. Let me call that specialist, the one Pepper wants you to see. Get  you an appointment before you start having flashbacks,” Obediah said. 

 

Tony shook him off. “Don’t you start on me too,” he practically growled. “Pepper, Rhodey, Barton … everyone thinks I’m crazy. I’m not ready for the men in white coats just yet. I know what I’m doing and as long as I have controlling interest in S.I., I’m calling the shots and I’m picking the bottle to pour from.”

 

“Fine, fine.” Obediah pushed a button on his phone. “But at least don’t drive home like this; last thing you need is an DUI picture in the paper.” 

 

“Jesus, I’m not drunk.” Tony pushed away from the desk, wobbled, and used a hand to steady himself. “I’ve got a higher tolerance than that.” 

 

“Mr. Stane?”  The lanky dark haired assistant stopped in the doorway, waiting for instructions. 

 

“Call a car for Mr. Stark, Jonathan,” Stane said. “He’s heading back to the mansion.” 

 

“I. Am. Not. Drunk,” Tony insisted as he weaved his way to the bureau. “I just want to make that clear. Oh, and I’m taking this.” He picked up the half-full decanter. “For the ride.” 

 

“Um, sir, I’m afraid it’s illegal to take an open container …” Jonathan began to say. 

 

“Fuck that.” Tony waved the die-cut glass holder. “I’m Tony Stark. I do what I want.” 

 

“Good God.” Stane stalked to his desk, opened a drawer and took out an unopened bottle of Balvenie. “Take this one.”

 

“Ah, Obie, you do love me!” Tony sat the decanter down with a thump and grabbed the decorative wooden cylinder, opening it without thought and taking the clear bottle by the neck. “50 years! Let’s have a party.” He squinted at the assistant. “You’re cute. What’s your name again? Do you bat for the other team?”

 

“Jonathan Pine,” he replied. “And I don’t think you can ask me that question.” 

 

With a dismissive wave, Tony grinned. “Oh, that’s a yes. A straight guy would protest at the very hint of being gay.  Want to drive me home?” 

 

“Tony.” Stane sighed. “Sexual harassment training. REmember?” 

 

“It’s just a joke, Obie, lighten up.” Tony stumbled; Jonathan caught him and Tony wrapped an arm around his neck. “Tall, dark and sexy here is perfectly capable of saying no without any fear. I don’t force people; I’m not into that. Hell, even handcuffs squick me out after …” 

 

“I’ll see him to the car, sir,” Jonathan said, holding Tony up as he started to sag lower. 

 

“Thank you,” Obediah replied. “Oh, and come back around four, will you?”

 

“Of course.” 

 

Tony continued to lean on Jonathan all the way down the elevator. “You’ve got long fingers,” he said. “You know what they say about guys with big hands.”

 

“Don’t overdo it,” Loki hissed in his ear. 

 

“Come on!” Tony protested. “Work with me here. I’m Tony Stark; I’m cute as hell and just as obnoxious.” 

 

“Are you trying to seduce me or turn me off?” Loki rolled his eyes, keeping his back to the security cameras. 

 

“Ah, I’ve got it!” Tony  struggled to stand up straight. “Would you like to come up and see my collection? I’ve got some new Mapplethorpe photos.” 

 

“Careful.” Loki’s arm tightened around Tony’s waist. “If you were serious, that one would work.” 

 

“Who says I’m not?” Tony pitched his voice low as Loki helped him in the back of car. With one last wink, he left the con man standing in the garage, watching the Lincoln drive away.

* * *

 

“For the duration of Agent Coulson’s absence …” Fury was saying; Rodriguez jumped in. 

 

“Suspension,” she corrected. 

 

Fury glared at his boss. “Agent Coulson’s suspension, you’ll be working with Agent Rogers …” 

 

“Within your original two mile radius,” Rodriguez interrupted. “Coulson gave you too much leeway;  with the spotlight on the Bureau, we need you to keep a low profile. Last thing we need is the media blaring that we have a criminal in our midst. If I had my way, you’d be confined to a desk.”

 

Or sent back to prison; Clint heard what she didn’t say. HIs money was riding on Rodrigez being in Stane’s hip pocket.  All this was too convenient to not be part of some plan. 

 

“Well, last time I looked, this was still my division, and I’m going to use every tool in my arsenal to do my job.” Fury stood up and stalked around his desk. “What I don’t need is someone looking over my shoulder, judging how I do my job.”

 

“D. C.’s breathing down my neck too, Nick,” she said. “I don’t want to give them any more ammunition.” 

 

“You’ve been looking for a reason to get rid of Barton since you took that job,” Nick accused. “He’s closed more cases in the last year than you did your whole career, and it burns your butt to know it.”

 

“That’s enough.” Her face hardened. “I’m still your superior and I can fire your ass, success rate or not.  You keep a tight rein on Barton; he takes one step out of line, you’re going down with him.” 

 

“Be careful.” Nick’s voice sliced, hard and sharp. “I don’t take threats lightly.” 

 

“You’re ego is astounding. It’s going to be your undoing.” She spun on her heel, brushing past Clint as she left the office. 

 

“Woman always has to get the last word,” Nick said with a huff. “Do I need to give you the shovel speech, Barton?” 

 

“No, sir,” Clint replied. 

 

“Good. Now get out there and bring this to an end,” he ordered. 

  
  



	2. Under the Radar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the words of Sherlock Holmes, the game is afoot ... and everyone has a part to play.

“It’s all there, just like I told you.” Sam Wilson leaned over the wide desk and handed Stane a jump drive.  “I’ve got the originals, of course, but this should be enough to get Barton’s ass tossed back in prison.” 

 

Obediah popped the drive into a port, opened a window and began clicking through the files.  Spreadsheets, news reports … mp3 files labeled by date and time, starting six months ago. He played the first one. Barton’s voice came from the computer’s speakers. 

 

_ “Is it secured?” he asked.  _

 

_ “In the authenticator’s hands. The buyer should have it by Thursday.” Obediah didn’t recognize the second speaker.  _

 

_ “James Barnes. He’s Barton’s inside man; been moving stolen art for years,” Wilson supplied.  _

 

_ “Good. I’ll have the Rush and the Gursky ready to switch by next week. I’m having  lunch with Tony in the building. Can you be in town?”  _

 

_ “I’ll make a point of it,” Barnes answered.  _

 

The file ended. 

 

“Barton’s replacing artwork and selling the originals?” Obediah smiled. “All we have to do is prove the ones here are fake.” 

 

“That’s just the beginning,” Wilson told him. 

 

Picking up his phone, Stane instigated the money transfer to the unnamed Swiss account.  “If it’s like this, it’s well worth the cost.” 

* * *

 

“What a waste of good Scotch,” Natasha said mournfully as James dumped the last of the bottle’s contents down the drain. “Man should be indicted for that alone.” 

 

“Drugging your surrogate son does it for me.” James tossed the bottle in the recycle bin where it mixed with others. “Not to mention killing people.” 

 

“Yeah, I’m sort of fond of Tony, and if you tell him that, I’ll kill you and hide your body.” Natasha opened Stark’s fridge and surveyed the interior. “Plus, he  keeps his fridge stocked and buys the best caviar.” 

 

“Well, he has terrible taste in men,” James took the craft beer Natasha held out and popped the top. “He was flirting with Loki, of all people.”

 

“Maybe I should tell him that Loki and Clint were an item once.” Natasha mulled that over as she shifted the organic almond milk to reach the all natural sour cream. “Nah, that would just make Tony more interested. Besides, Tony’s tougher than he looks; he can handle Loki’s games. Might even enjoy them.” 

 

Like a choreographed ballet, Natasha balanced her choices in her arms and pushed the fridge closed with her bare foot.  Stray wisps of red curls floated free from her ponytail, clinging to the slick skin of her neck where sweat cooled after their workout. Too distracted by a drop that clung to the curve of her shoulder, James didn’t take the bread she offered; nudging him with her elbow, she pushed him aside and began depositing her treasures on the granite countertop. 

 

“Wake up, Barnes. You act like you’ve never had a girl kick your ass before.” She grinned at him as she laid out slices of fresh rye bread and opened the jar of spicy German mustard. “Although you gave me a run for my money; you’ve got a future as a bodyguard or MMA fighter with those skills.” 

 

“I’d rather be a beater on a quidditch team,” he replied, slicing some Havarti cheese and handing it over. “Never did get my Hogwarts’ letter though.” 

 

She laughed, and he reveled in the sound of uninhibited mirth.  “I’d rule Slytherin, that’s for sure.  And an alohomora spell would be damn handy in my line of work.” 

 

A layer of speck, another of serrano ham and then mortadella. James made short work of the tomato, making thin slices to add after the lettuce. “Speaking of that, any last minute changes to tonight’s agenda?” 

 

“We’re a solid go.” After adding the top slice of bread, she cut both sandwiches in half.  “The curtain is up and we’re on.” 

 

“I’m on chauffeur duty again. If you need backup …” 

 

“... you’ll be linked in on comms, I know.” She swiped her finger across his cheek, leaving a smear of mustard. “You worry too much.” 

 

He dabbed at it, licking it off his finger; her eyes followed the movement, green irises darkening. “That’s my job, if I understand it right. Make sure everyone stays safe and beat up anyone who tries to hurt us.” 

 

“A very important job, to be sure,” she agreed, plucking a napkin from the holder on the counter and wetting the edge with her tongue. “Almost impossible, considering Clint’s penchant for finding trouble and my adrenaline addiction.” 

 

With a feather soft touch, she cleaned his cheek; he held her gaze with his own steady one, committed to where this was going. Not here and not now, but soon. Very soon. “Darlin’, you got nothing on me. If it’s dangerous, I’ll try it at least once.” 

 

“Well, now that sounds like a promise.” She drawled the words out, husky tremor in her voice. “I think maybe …” 

 

“Hey! Sandwiches!  Make me one of those.” Tony blew into the kitchen, a tool belt around his waist that included a drill and a hair dryer. “I’ve about got this thing licked; just a few more tweaks and we’ll be so far in, Obie will think he’s been rogered by an omnibus.” 

 

“Rogered by a … what?” James asked. 

 

“Omnibus? Black Adder? Hello? Where have you been, Barnes? Only the best BBC comedy series ever!” Tony grabbed the kale and a collection of fruit and headed to the blender. “Wait. No. Strike that. I forgot about Fawlty Towers. We’ll call that one a tie.” 

 

“Just go with it,” Natasha said when James opened his mouth to ask another question. “He’s on a roll.”

 

Tony continued talking, picking up steam. “Seriously, I’m embarrassed by how easy it was …” 

 

James picked up his sandwich and let the techno babble wash over him. 

 

Soon would be good enough. 

 

* * *

 

“Ah, Pine, there you are.” Obediah shuffled the papers on his desk, pulling out a printed list. “I need these pieces removed and new ones put in their place; take this to Barbara in storage management and she’ll arrange to have them packed for shipping.”  

 

“Of course, sir.” Loki looked over the familiar works, a thrill running up his spine as he saw the artist’s names. “She’ll know which ones to replace them with?” 

 

Waving a hand, Obediah kept his eyes glued to his screen. “You pick something from the C list. Nothing too valuable, but enough to be tempting. And tell Barbara not to use our usual authenticator.  I don’t trust his associates.” 

 

“I see.” He started to turn, hesitated, then spoke. “If I may, sir …” 

 

“What?” Stane finally looked up. 

 

“The Mehretu in the twenty-second floor lobby has a small nick in lower left hand corner. Perhaps this would be a good time to get it restored?” Nothing burned Loki’s sensibilities that a poorly maintained work of art. That’s the problem with corporate buyers; art wasn’t an investment, it was a sentiment. 

 

“Put it on the list.” Stane didn’t even blink at the request. “Oh, and tell security to make extra rounds tonight. There’ll be people wandering all over the lower floors thanks to that F.R.E.E. fundraiser tonight.” 

 

“Will do, sir.” 

 

He closed the door as he left, his stride steady and shoulders loose. Nothing on the exterior telegraphed the excitement he felt, the itch in his fingers and the knot of anticipation in his gut. The game, as Sherlock Holmes would say, was afoot, and Loki was more than ready to play. 

* * *

 

“Wow.” Tony stopped in the doorway, his eyes scanning Natasha from her red toenails up to the diamond pin in her scarlet hair. “Just wow.” 

 

“Pop your eyeballs back in your head,” James’ voice rumbled. 

 

“Yeah, dude, no way any red blooded male is not going to drool at the sight of that. Now I know what she’s called the Black Widow. She can eat me up and spit me out any time. And I’ll enjoy it,” Tony said. “Besides, I’m a stone age neanderthal when it comes to women according to the press. Got to keep the illusion up.”

 

Natasha tipped her head, a fall of crystal clear diamonds swinging from her ear. “It is so good of my friend Anthony to show me his collection,” she purred, Danish accent heavy on every word. “And his support of clean energy is to be admired.” 

 

“I don’t know how you’re going to sneak up to Stane’s office,” James complained. “Every eye’s going to be on you.” 

 

“Ah, darling, that’s a nice compliment.” Her stiletto heels tapped on the wood floor as she crossed to drop a kiss on his cheek, ruby red lipstick leaving a silhouette. “It’s Anthony’s job to take center stage; he’s an old pro at making a scene.” 

 

“I can do the drunken playboy act in my sleep,” Tony assured them. “Add a touch of paranoia and, voila! The camera lens will see nothing but me.” 

 

“You live a weird life,” James groused, holding the door open so they could descend the front steps to where the Rolls Royce was waiting. 

 

“Too true,” Tony agreed. 

 

“Let’s just hope Phil’s wonder girl works her magic on the keyboard and breaks through the firewall.  This is all for naught if she doesn’t.” Natasha folded herself into the back seat with practiced elegance. 

 

“With my afternoon’s work, shouldn’t be a problem. Besides, if she doesn’t turn off the tractor beam, it will be a short ride.” Tony grinned. “No jumps to hyperspace if we’re stuck in the Death Star.” 

 

“No.” James protested. “I’m Han Solo. You’re Luke Skywalker.” 

 

“No way, Barnesy boy. I’m the captain of this here ship.”

 

“Oh for God’s sake,” Natasha interjected. “I’m Solo. There. Problem solved.”

 

As James started the car, he glanced in the rearview mirror. “Ah, so that makes Tony Chewbacca.” 

 

They argued about who was who the rest of the way. 

* * *

 

“You should see the inside of this van! Stark really went all out on equipping this baby.” Skye ran a hand over her ergonomic keyboard. “There’s a mini-fridge and a bar!”

 

“Don’t get used to it,” Phil warned. “You shouldn’t be involved in this.”

 

“Oh come on, AC, I’m the only one who can get into this system,” she said. “You need me.” 

 

“What I don’t need is to see you hauled off to prison,” Phil muttered, all too aware he’d lost this battle before it had even started.  Not that he could blame Clint for pulling Skye in; she really was the best hacker he’d seen, short of Stark himself.  But he didn’t have to like the risk she was taking. The risk they were all taking for him. That was the crux of his problem; he worried too much. 

 

“We’re heading into the lobby.” Clint’s voice came loud and clear, the next generation earbuds giving crystal clear reception.  Another Stark invention. “All’s clear at the front entrance.” 

 

“Internal cameras are online,” Skye responded, bouncing her mouse between numerous corridors and empty offices. “Dummy feed is ready to go when you are.” 

 

“Garage is quiet,” James added. “The others are in route in the private elevator.” 

 

“Stane’s still in his office; we’ve got eyes on him.” Phil’s screen showed the back of Stane’s head, his shoulders bowed over the paperwork littered across the desk. 

 

“Exiting the elevator now,” Natasha replied. 

 

Phil followed hers and Tony’s progress across the already filled ballroom; Tony stopped at every second or third person, shaking hands, slapping men on the back.  He snagged his first glass from a passing tray, downing the glass of champagne and returning it to the waiter.

 

“You start to feel any effects from the drug, Tony, we’re pulling you out,” Phil warned.  “The antidote Dr. Foster supplied only works for a limited time.” 

 

With a casual turn, Tony rolled his eyes in the direction of the security camera before he moved on to a woman with a fur stole across her shoulders and glittering diamonds around her neck. “Deliah! How wonderful to see you. How was Betty Ford? Did they give you the multiple visit discount?” 

 

Phil could see the slap coming and flinched when sound reverberated through the earpiece. “Ouch.” 

 

“Tony’s already in distraction mode,” Natasha murmured from her place near the bar. “We certainly won’t have any trouble on that front.” 

 

“Stane’s moving,” Skye announced. “He’s on his way to the back bank of elevators.” 

 

“Time to get this show on the road,” Phil declared. 


	3. Borrowed Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony wins an oscar, Phil talks about spanking, and Natasha pretends to be bad.

“...and that’s when he dropped the bomb that he wasn’t gay!” 

 

Tony’s voice boomed out across the room, turning heads and raising eyebrows. From his vantage point by the elevator, Clint could see a couple of surreptitious cell phones taking videos and pictures; another Stark viral video was in the making. If Tony needed a fall back career, he could be an award-winning actor. 

 

“Doors will be opening in five, four, three …” Skye was enjoying herself, caught up in her first con. He could still remember his own first big job; he’d been green behind the ears and gullible to a fault, trusting the wrong person and ending up in the hospital for his trouble. 

 

“There he is.” Steve nodded to Obediah as he exited the lift.  “Mr. Stane, a moment, if I may?” 

 

Turning an unhappy eye their way, Stane hardly paused as he answered. “This is not a good time.”

 

“Just a few questions and we’ll be on our way,” Steve said, keeping pace and not giving way. “It would be for the company’s benefit if we could …” 

 

“Fine.Five minutes, no more.” They stopped in a corner, Stane’s eye wandering over the rest of the room as he nodded to a couple people. “Get on with it.” 

 

“You said you’d never spoke to Agent Garrett?” Steve asked. 

 

“Yes.” Stane glared at them both; Clint merely raised an eyebrow and let the man simmer. “As I said before, I didn’t even know the man.” 

 

“Well, someone at Stark Industries in your office did; Garrett made a number of phone calls on the night he died to the SI switchboard and was transferred to your main number.” Steve was good at this, drawing information out of a suspect.  “Is there anyone you think might have been in contact with Garrett?” 

 

A neat little trap Steve had created; no matter what the answer, the implication was that someone was working with Garrett inside the company.  

 

“Widow’s in,” Phil’s voice came across the comm link. “Three minutes and twenty-seven seconds until the security guard checks the floor.” 

 

“I trust my employees, Agent Rogers.” Stane opted for the sneer, riding his arrogance instead of answering. “Anyone can call that number; he could have hung up or been transferred. Assuming, of course, his phone hasn’t been tampered with.” 

 

Clint bore the brunt of Stane’s pointed look and allowed only the edge of one side of his lips to curl up ever so slightly. So Stane suspected tampering; the man had no idea what was really going on. Playing on his already suspicious mind was going to be fun. 

 

“I’m afraid we’re going to need to see the phone records on your end.” Steve didn’t miss a beat, continuing smoothy; Clint was glad he’d trusted Steve with part of the truth.  The breaking and entering wasn’t on the sharing agenda, but Stane’s plan to drug Tony had been more than enough to ensure Steve was glad to be a distraction. “As well as emails. I’m afraid Garrett’s involvement goes much further than just SI; we’ve tracked some of his calls to a known terrorist who is part of the Ten Rings.” 

 

That little nugget rocked Stane back on his heels for a beat, almost long enough to be convincing. But he recovered a touch too quickly, a weasel worded answer too quick on his tongue.  “You don’t think … this man was involved in Tony’s kidnapping?” 

 

“Seriously? He doesn’t even have a biometric scanner set. This is the man who’s trying to take us down?” Natasha’s voice dripped with disgust in Clint’s ear. “Tony, you said this was going to be hard: I’m going to have time to twiddle my fingers.” 

 

“We don’t know,” Steve was saying. “That’s what we’re trying to find out and why we need the records. The danger could be very close to home, Mr. Stane. We need to find out.” 

 

“Of course.” Stane nodded, anxious to tip the conversation in a direction away from him. “I’ll have Regina send them over first thing in the morning. Whatever we can do to help; Tony’s my top priority.” 

 

Some people lie so well that it’s almost impossible to not believe them. Other lies, like Stane’s, were too slick and easy to slide down with some hint of doubt. Clint tucked his hands in his pants pockets and smiled, the turn of his lips that signaled he’d bought none of what Stane was selling. 

 

“That’s what we all want,” he assured Stane. “Tony, safe and sound.” 

 

“I raised Tony after his father died,” Stane shot back. “Don’t pretend you have his best interests at heart. You’re only here to steal him blind, and I’m going to put a stop to that.” 

 

“Obie!” Tony sauntered over, wrapping an arm around Stane’s shoulders. The half full glass of scotch dribbled some drops onto Stane’s jacket. “Why are you hiding? Come on. People want to talk about my … you know … and I need you to fend them off.  Never know who’s slipped in under a press pass, eh?” 

 

“If you’ll excuse me.” Stane let himself be turned and dragged away.  Looking back, Tony gave them an exaggerated wink, stumbling on the flat tile floor. 

 

“Time?” Clint asked. 

 

“One minute and four seconds,” Phil said with a sigh. “The guard is taking his sweet time about it.” 

 

He stepped closer to Steve so it looked like they were having a conversation.  Speaking to himself was a dead giveaway something was up. 

 

“Tony’s certainly in fine form,” Clint said. “Wonder how much he’s had to drink already?” 

 

“If that’s your way of asking if I’m in place,” Loki groused. “The answer is yes.”

 

“Running a little late?” Clint caught a glimpse of the black hair and a perfect Tom Ford suit winding through the crowd. At Steve’s questioning look, he mouthed ‘the guard.’ 

 

“Stane asked me to do him a favor. I’ll fill you in later.” Loki’s mischievous grin was aimed at a beautiful blonde, but Clint remembered what it meant. “Oh, by the way, I’m shifting to the London Spank. Blame Stark.” 

 

“London … What the fuck is that?” James demanded. 

 

“Mr. Stane.” Loki smoothly insinuated himself between Tony and Obediah, a full glass of whiskey in his hand; he offered it to Stane.  “Your favorite.”

 

“The good stuff.” Tony snatched it, trading off his now empty glass. “Probably for the best. Can’t trust the waiters; they can be bought off.” 

 

“Wow, Stane’s got a ton of porn on here,” Natasha complained. “He’s got a serious robot kin.”

 

“Got it,” Skye announced. “Passing on the codes now.” 

 

“Thank, God. I just hit the robots and cars section. I’m out.” 

 

“You ready to head out?” Clint asked Steve. 

 

“You didn’t tell me who you got to do the switch,” Steve said as soon as they hit the elevator.    
  


“He’s good.” Clint eyed Steve’s face, watching for signs of conflict.  All he saw was acceptance. 

 

“Yeah.” Steve simply nodded. “Fight fire with fire, right?”

 

“Something like that,” Clint agreed. 

 

* * *

 

“London Spank?” Phil asked as soon as Clint climbed into the van. He’d worried about using Loki from the start, and not just because he and Clint had been lovers. No, Phil didn’t trust the him. 

 

“A variety of the American Dream,” Clint explained, closing the doors behind him. “Only with a posh British aristocrat.” 

 

“Ah,” Phil nodded.  “A double-blind.”

 

“You do know you’re talking in secret code,” Skye complained, headphones pushed away from one ear. “But then, I’m not sure I want to hear AC talk about spanking and blindfolds.” 

 

“It’s not …” Phil began. 

 

“You’ve got no idea, darlin’,” Clint drawled. “Doesn’t even scratch the surface.” 

 

One of the camera feeds on the screen showed a figure exiting an elevator. “Finally,” Phil murmured, glad for the interruption. Touching the broadcast button, he said, “Tony, you’re a go. Less than twenty seconds.” 

 

“Don’t touch me!”  Tony backed away from a man in a $4000 suit. “Don’t. Touch. Me.” 

 

People scattered as Tony curled in on himself, dropping his drink; it shattered, a sharp crack followed by the tinkle of glass shrapnel. Stane tried putting his arms around Tony, urging him to stand up, but Tony fought back, tearing himself free and darting for the nearest table, turning it over with a crash, vase and flowers spilling across hard tile. Squeezing his body behind it, Tony cowered, face hidden in his hands. 

 

“Tony.” Stane went towards him.

 

“Get down!” Tony shouted. “For God’s stake, Obie, get down.” 

 

“Sir.” Loki spoke quietly to Stane. “I served in Afghanistan. If I may?” 

 

With a nod of consent from Stane, Loki knelt a few steps away. “Mr. Stark? It’s Lieutenant Pine. From the convoy? You’re fine, sir. The shelling has stopped.” 

 

“Pine?” Tony peaked between his fingers. “I don’t remember a Pine.” 

 

“I was in the other humvee, sir.” Loki eased closer. “We need to get back to the car. It’s safe now.” 

 

“No, I heard …” Tony drew himself up, blinked, and looked around. “I thought I heard …” 

 

“I heard it too,” Loki said, voice calm. “But we’re all safe.” He held out a hand. “Come with me and we’ll get you cleaned up.” 

 

Edging out of his hiding place, Tony glanced around at the astonished faces of the gathered crowd. Using Loki’s hand as leverage, he stood and brushed off his suit, leaving little trails of red from small slices glass shards had made in his palms. “Show’s over, folks,” he said, voice wavering then gaining strength. “And that’s what you do if you’re ever in a nuclear attack. Duck and cover. Important safety tip.”  

 

“And we’ve got a silent alarm.” Skye’s fingers flew over the keys, redirecting the notification. “Should hit Stane’s phone in five, four, three, two …” 

 

On screen, Stane drew his cell from his pocket, frowned at the screen, then tucked it back in. “Sorry for the interruption folks; help yourselves to a free drink from the bar and don’t forget to give generously. We all want to find alternative clean energy streams.” Stepping closer, Stane ducked his head and spoke quietly. “Jonathan, why don’t you see Tony get home?  I’ve got to take care of something then I’ll be right there.” 

 

“Of course, sir.” Loki offered his arm to Tony. “Shall we give them something else to talk about?”

 

“Why, Pine, I like your style,” Tony said. 

 

“Stane’s enroute to his office,” Phil announced. “We’ve got … 30 seconds or less before he resets the alarm.” 

 

“Plenty of time,” Clint said. “Right, Nat?”

 

“As much as it pains me to admit it,” she replied. “That should do.” 

* * *

 

“I don’t trust Loki.” Phil took a swig from his beer and leaned against the half wall of the balcony. Inside, Natasha and James were on the couch, going over details for the morning, arguing about who was going to drive the van. Downstairs, Stane was holding court in the lounge, playing the caring uncle while Loki switched drugged scotch for colored water. 

 

“Oh, he can’t be trusted,”Clint explained. “He’s out for number one and makes no bones about it. Thing is, in this business, if you double-cross your partners, you can get by with it once or twice before no one will work with you. What Loki wants is pretty simple: make money and pull off a big score. That’s how he got to be the best. As long as we give him those two things, he’ll stick with us.” 

 

“Honor among grifters is real, eh?” Phil sat his beer on the wrought iron table and caught Clint’s belt loops with his fingers. “And you’re wrong about one thing. You’re the best.”

 

It was easy to reel him in and there was no need to resist dropping a kiss on those imminently kissable lips. The after effects of a successful evening’s work left Phil feeling euphoric and with an extra dose of jittery energy. Too bad Tony would be up for a bull session after Stane left; hell, he’d probably bring Loki with him, and the last thing Phil wanted was to get into a pissing match with Clint’s ex-lover.  Having him around without arresting him was hard enough. 

 

“Nah, I’m not, but thanks for the vote of confidence.” Clint settled his arms around Phil’s waist. “Too many people know I’m working with the Feds for the word not to be out. I’m tainted goods now.” He paused, chuckled, and continued. “Surprisingly, I’m pretty okay with it. Seems I like bringing down the bad guys, especially when it involves a good con.” 

 

“I understand,” Phil replied. “I kind of like a good con when it involves bringing someone to justice.” 

 

Another kiss seemed the only logical step from there. Phil tasted the crisp bite of white wine as he swiped his tongue into Clint’s mouth, holding back on his desire to take more.  Clint seemed to be on the same page, keeping his hold loose, the kisses light until the sound of someone clearing their throat brought them up short. 

 

“Sorry to interrupt.” Matt Murdock stood on the top of the wall; he jumped down, landing on the balls of his feet. “I will try to restrain my urge to clap and shout hallelujah, if that helps.” 

 

“Don’t you start too,” Clint said, breaking hold and turning towards Matt. “Natasha’s been riding me for months; I don’t need another friend telling me I told you so.” 

 

“Fine, I won’t say it’s about time either.” Matt held out his hand, a usb drive in his glove covered fingers. “Here’s everything from Stane’s home.  Your hacker girl’s damn good; all I had to do was plug this in and she did the rest.” 

 

“You have any trouble?” Natasha came out onto the patio, James easing out of the door behind her. “Stuart Clarke’s systems are notoriously hard to break.” 

 

“Met Clarke once through a mutual friend; once you know how he thinks, it’s not that difficult,” Matt countered. “You have fun setting off the alarm at SI?” 

 

“A true joy,” Natasha said. “I’m keeping the dress Stark bought for me to wear.” 

 

“Of course,” Matt replied. He held out a hand towards James. “Nice to finally meet you face-to-face, Barnes. You almost caught me in  Baltimore once.” 

 

“The Cassatt drawings.” James shook Matt’s hand without hesitation. “I told them security on the vents was necessary but they didn’t listen. Of course, I didn’t know to tell them to use echo location jammers.”

 

“No one ever thinks of that.” Matt stepped back a pace. “I’d tell you take care of Nat, but we both know she’s more than capable of doing that herself. Plus I like my balls right where they are, so I won’t even suggest she needs help.” He chuckled at Natasha’s huff of displeasure. “I’ll just say that I’m glad you’re a badass who’s up to her standards.” 

 

“Um,” James glanced sideways at Natasha and back at Matt. “Thanks? I think?”

 

“If you’re done being the ex-boyfriend,”  Natasha said, “you got the timeline down for tomorrow? We’re cutting things close. Skye will let you know when the wall is down.” 

 

“Yes, ma’am.” A grin played on the edges of Matt’s lips. “I’ll be there.” 

 

With a quick jump, Matt disappeared over the edge of the wall; Phil caught a glimpse of him repelling down the side of the mansion and then his dark clothes blended into the night and he was gone. 

 

“He never uses the door,” Clint groused. “Show off.” 

 

“Let’s see what Stane has to hide,” Phil said, rolling the drive between his fingers. “Time for the world to know his secrets.”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't forget about Matt Murdock! Part of a good con is misdirection ... making the mark think they know where to look while you do something out of eye shot. :)


	4. Return to Sender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper gets clued in and finds herself in danger. Melinda shows her stuff while Stane's already counting his chickens before they hatch.

“Tony, are you alright?” Pepper dropped her red leather purse on the kitchen counter; her heels clicked on the tile as she crossed the room. “I can’t believe you went to that gala last night! We’d agreed you would stay home and rest.”

 

“Hey, Pep, it’s … “ Tony started to speak but she didn’t slow down. 

 

“Why didn’t anyone call me? Tell me what happened?” She glared at Clint who was sipping his coffee, sitting on one of the counter stools.  Beside him, James ducked his head instead of answering. “Honestly, I have one migraine and the everything goes to hell.” 

 

“Pep,” Tony tried again. 

 

“What were you thinking? You were kidnapped, Tony. Held hostage. The doctor said you needed to avoid stressful situations and you go to one of Obediah’s fundraisers?” 

 

She didn’t stomp her foot, but she did put her hands on her hips, a tiny woman who looked like she could take on an army right now. Clint hid his smile behind the lip of his mug; it was Tony’s idea to keep Pepper out of the loop. Let him deal with the fallout. 

 

“Pepper, if you’d let me explain,” Tony said.

 

“Oh, no, I know your explanations and I’m sure the story involves alcohol.” She sighed and her anger began to subside. “Do you know that Obediah’s called a press conference for tomorrow morning?  He’s meeting with the board later today and he’s going to call for your ouster on grounds of mental instability.”

 

“Here, have a cup.” Tony handed her a steaming mug that he’d loaded up with two sugars and hazelnut cream. “Take a seat and I’ll …” 

 

“Is that coffee? It smells divine.” Loki sauntered through the doorway, perfectly tailored suit crisp and clean, looking like he’d just stepped out of the pages of  _ GQ _ .  “I’m running late; I called for a car. I hope you don’t mind.” 

 

Pepper’s eyes widened; she leaned back against the island’s countertop as Tony reached a filled travel mug to Loki. “Oh, Tony,” she murmured, shaking her head. 

 

“Don’t worry,” Tony poured his own cup. “He’s not really Jonathan Pine; he’s Loki Laufeyson, one of Clint’s grifter friends. He’s working for us.” 

 

Bouncing between Tony and Loki, Pepper’s head turned back and forth and then she heaved a sigh. “At least tell me you have a plan and aren’t just going off half-cocked.” 

 

“Oh, he’s definitely not the half-cocked kind,” Loki said, his green eyes locked onto Tony. “Trust me on that.” 

 

“Why, thank you.” Tony winked at him before answering Pepper’s question. “Of course, there’s a plan; ask the mastermind over there.” 

 

All eyes followed Tony’s nod; Phil paused, glancing bemusedly over the gathered crowd. “I missed something, didn’t I?” 

 

“Just bringing Pepper up-to-date,” Tony said. “It’s time we read her in.” 

 

“Phil!” Pepper stepped forward and gave him a hug.  “I’m glad you’re staying here; I was worried when I heard your house was a crime scene.  There’s certainly enough bedrooms in this place.” 

 

“Not that he used one,” Tony added. “Barton was more than happy to share.” 

 

Cheeks tinging pink, Phil glared at Tony. “Shall we start on who you slept with last night, Stark?”

 

“Oh, everyone knows that already. I’d rather hear the details of your early morning adventures. The pipes rattle in this old place, you know.” 

 

“Oh, good God, it’s like Melrose Place around here,” James complained. “Tony’s sleeping with Loki who once slept with Clint who’s now sleeping with Phil. And I slept alone, just for the record. Now that that’s out of the way, can we get on with the business at hand. With Ms. Potts in the know, she can help with access; I’m assuming you have a coded ID?” 

 

“Yes, and passkeys for all the labs and record rooms. Only place I can’t get you inside is Stane’s private office,” Pepper replied, patting Phil on the shoulder and giving him a fond smile. 

 

“Don’t worry about that; we’ve got that covered. What we need is to get into the acquisition storage room,” Clint said. 

 

“I’m going down there today to look at a damaged painting and check out two new purchases,” she said. “I often take an art expert with me, if that helps.” 

 

“Well, then, my lady.” Loki offered. “I am at your service.” 

 

“Sorry, but we’ve already got someone lined up for that job,” Clint said. “You get to babysit Stane.” 

 

“Oh, joy of joys,” Loki muttered. “The payoff better be worth putting up with that prat.”

 

“I can offer a round two.” Tony leaned against the counter. “If that counts.” 

 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Loki agreed. 

* * *

 

The vista of New York filled the floor-to-ceiling windows; hands crossed behind his back, Obediah surveyed the city as the morning sunlight painted streaks across the streets below, slipping through cracks between buildings.  He’d always loved this view, ever since SI moved its headquarters here and he’d taken his pick of offices. Only when the sun was directly above did the shadows dissipate and then for less than fifteen minutes.  He kept time watching the line of night recede and return, a constant reminder that the world stopped turning for no one, not Howard Stark or himself.  Age was creeping up on him, this he accepted.  But right now, with the evidence spread out on his desk, Obediah Stane was finally ascending to where he always should have been: President and CEO of Stark Industries. Only a few loose ends needed tying up; by this time, tomorrow, he’d have the title as well as the power to turn this company in the direction he wanted it to go. 

 

The cell phone in his pocket rang; he checked the number before answering. 

 

“We’re in place. What’s our timeline?” Grant Ward asked. 

 

“Start in house and be sure and leave the tape claiming credit. Wait until as many of them are together as you can for the big finale.  Two days at the most.” 

 

“Will do,” he replied. “Should we avoid collateral damage?” 

 

“Would the Ten Rings?” 

 

“Maximum effect, then.” He could practically hear the smile in Grant Ward’s voice. “This is going to be fun.” 

 

“Just don’t muck it up again,” he warned. “And keep your mouth shut.” 

 

“That’s what you pay us for.” 

 

Tucking the phone back in his pocket, Stane felt not even a flicker of remorse for the innocents who might get caught in the crossfire. Damn people couldn’t see how Stark Industries weapons had saved this country; they protested and whined about war, well, let them see what life would be like without missiles to protect them. 

 

“Pine. Just on time.” He saw the reflection as his assistant entered. “Did you spend the night with Tony?” 

 

Hesitating, Pine ducked his head as a blush spread up the fair skin of his neck. “I did,” he stammered as Obediah turned. “I hope that isn’t a problem? Tony … Mr. Stark was still very upset and anxious and I thought …” 

 

Obediah waved his hand, dismissing the concern. “Actually, I’m glad to hear it. Tony needs someone level headed around him right now. Pepper’s far too emotional to do what has to be done.  So, how was Tony this morning? Was anyone else there? I hate to think of him being alone in the big house.” 

 

“He was much calmer,” Pine said. “Ms. Potts stopped by to berate him for not calling her last night, just as you predicted. She also informed him of the board meeting and the press conference scheduled for tomorrow.” 

 

“Good, good. One less thing I’ll have to do.” And more fodder for Tony’s paranoia, exactly what Stane had planned.

 

“Agent Coulson was also there; something about not being able to stay in his home?  I didn’t catch the explanation, but I heard he was sleeping in a guest room,” Pine continued. “And Barton, who lives in the apartment upstairs. I saw him briefly before he left for work, caught a ride with a very handsome blonde.” 

 

“Did they talk about anything important? About Tony, I mean?” With Pine on the inside, Stane just might learn a few details about what Barton had up his sleeve. No way was Clint going to go down without a fight. The break in last night in his office had proven that; fortunately, he was smart enough to not keep anything incriminating here. 

 

“Ms. Potts talked about some new paintings that are arriving today -- she’ll be spending most of the afternoon unpacking and cataloguing them. Mostly people were only after a cup of coffee before they left.” 

 

“So, situation normal. That’s good.” Stane’s fingers itched to send Ward the information about Pepper. “And the paintings? Any word on the authentication process?” 

 

“Yes.” Pine seemed relieved as he laid a file on Stane’s desk. “The Rush is definitely a fake, as is the Gahl and the Wadden. He’s working on the others.” 

 

“Keep on this. I want updates as soon as we have them. Oh, and make sure at least one of the paintings is on display for the press conference tomorrow. We’ll need an art expert … get that Carter woman, the one dating the Fed. She’ll be perfect as a second opinion if someone insists on it.” Energized by the report, Obediah circled around the big wooden surface. “I’m going to need some printouts put together for the press packet. I’ll send you the information; make the graphics dramatic. Have them together by nine a.m. sharp.” 

 

“Yes, sir.” Pine took that as the dismissal it was, closing the door behind him. 

 

Immediately, Stane took out the phone and sent the text. 

* * *

 

“Good afternoon, Barb.” Pepper popped her head into the coordinator’s office. “I wanted to thank you for the ginger snaps you brought in last week; they were delicious.” 

 

The brown haired woman in tailored khakis and simple green blouse smiled. “That’s my grandmother’s recipe; they never fail.”

 

“I’m going to check on the delivery,” Pepper told her. “And that damaged painting. Can’t believe what people do to artwork on display.” 

 

“It’s not bad,” Barbara replied. “A small nick in the lower right hand corner, easily fixed. But the others? I can’t believe they’re forgeries. I’d never have guessed. And that good looking young man who worked for the insurance company being part of it? Doesn’t make any sense to me.”

 

“We’ll have to wait and see.” Pepper stepped aside so Barbara could see her companion. “Barb, this is my new assistant, Natalie Rushman. She’s just up from the 24th floor.” 

 

“Well, it’s about time you had some help. Nice to meet you.” Barbara nodded.  “Just go on back, I’ll buzz you in.” 

 

“How long do you need?” Pepper asked once they were walking down the rows of metal shelving, each one meticulously numbered and tagged. She’d refrained from asking what Natasha planned to do, insisting on a level of deniability; one smart cookie, that’s what Pepper Potts was. If Natasha hadn’t seen Tony Stark’s good side, she’d wonder why Pepper ever put up with him. 

 

“No more than twelve minutes.” She actually only needed nine, but she had a little side trip of her own to make; she didn’t trust Loki any further than she could throw him and, technically, that was a quite a few feet. 

 

The exchange was easy to make, staples already loosened by the authenticator. It was just over eleven minutes -- 11:04 to be exact -- when she heard the scuffle of feet on concrete, the distinct sound of stiletto heels tapping and heavy soled boots following. 

 

“No!” 

 

Pepper’s voice rang out, echoing through the big space. 

 

“We’ve got a problem,” Natasha whispered, tapping her comm to turn it on.  She sprinted around the end of one row and saw two men, dressed in black, complete with ski masks covering their faces, catch up to Pepper and grab her arms. The bigger one picked her up and slung her over his shoulder as she shouted and sputtered a litany of perfectly enunciated curse words. The other pointed a gun at Natasha; shots ricocheted off the floor and wall, forcing her to duck behind a stack of wooden crates. “They’re taking Pepper out by the loading docks. Damn it, I’m pinned down.”

 

Static overrode any reply; two more bullets kept her on the move. A half-opened crate yielded a heavy glass object, a half melted circle of grey and green; she’d already flung it at her attacker before she realized it was an original Steve Tobin piece.  The man slumped as it slammed into his forehead with a satisfying thunk. She paused long enough to grab the gun and tie his hands with his own belt before she picked up the sculpture, gently setting it aside. 

 

Skittering around the corner, she threw herself through the access door, drawing up when she saw Pepper running up the loading ramp towards the building.  A white van was parked by the dumpster, side door propped open; in front of it, three people were fighting.  Two men warily circled a small, dark haired woman; barely coming up to their shoulders, Melinda May ducked under a fist and landed a roundhouse punch to one man’s chest. He stumbled backwards, giving her time to continue her sweep and kick the second one in the side of the head. In seconds, both men were on the ground, unconscious.  

 

“There’s one more inside,” Natasha told Melinda. “Let’s get them in the van.” 

 

Pepper, a little shaky but still standing, helped them pile the men in the back.  “You’re Obediah’s driver,” she finally said. 

 

“Melinda May,” Natasha said in way of introduction. “Meet Pepper Potts. Pepper, this is Melinda, an old friend of Phil’s.” 

 

“I should have known.” Pepper smiled. “Thank you. I think they were going to kidnap me.” 

 

“I recognize two of them.  Smith and Ward are both wanted by the FBI and Interpol,” Melinda said.  “Smith’s a bastard, but Ward can be bought. I imagine …” 

 

A motorcycle zoomed around the corner; James jumped off as soon as he came to stop and knocked the kickstand in place. “Everyone okay?” 

 

“We’re fine.” Pepper straightened her suit and tuck a hair back in place, her competent mask covering any lingering fear. “Melinda and Nat took care of them.”

 

Natasha loved the bloom of pride she saw in James’ eye; his ego wasn’t shaken by a woman who could handle herself. The leftover adrenaline in her body shifted from fight or flight to arousal; she fought the temptation to catch the open collar of his grey henley, drag his mouth down, and see how he tasted. Damn man was too distracting for her own good. 

 

“”Tasha,” Clint said in her ear. “Tony’s got the video feed from the dock. You up to playing the frightened assistant who just saw her boss get kidnapped?” 

 

“Fearful but struggling to stay strong to help Pepper. With a touch of hysteria thrown in  now and then. I’m on it.” She smiled. “Let’s give Stane a show, shall we?” 

  
  
  
  
  



	5. Au Revoir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Evelyn O'Connell says, "Nasty little fellows such as yourself always get their comeuppance. Always." 
> 
> There's an attempted bombing, a press conference, an arrest and an important announcement. 
> 
> Plus, this thing called family. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's Stane's comeuppance; I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. One more chapter to go and it will be posted on Tuesday. Need to give it a good editing run through. Be sure and stick around to the very end ... I can't wait to hear what you think! :)))

“... tell us he will announce the ouster of Tony Stark as CEO along with some other news …” 

 

“Didn’t take the vultures long,” Tony grumbled, passing a beer to James and taking the last one for himself, winking at the waitress. “The vote was what, thirty minutes ago?” 

 

“I bet the first leak was sent out before they left the board room,” Clint said, reaching over Phil to snag the hot salsa. “That’s the point of this little public appearance, after all. Being seen while the news breaks.” 

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Tony shrugged and slipped on his sunglasses as eyes turned towards him. Whispers began to blow through the room as other patrons realized who was sitting at a back table. “Par for the course, baby. Center of attention, been there, done that.” 

 

It was a new sensation for James; he was used to working on the edges, going unnoticed. Cataloguing possible dangers, scoping out the restaurant, all his usual habits were harder when people were clicking pictures with their phones and gossiping behind their menus. Two women sharing a pitcher of margaritas winked and blew kisses at him. 

 

“I’d never get used to it,” Phil said. “I feel like I’ve got a target on my back.” 

 

A quick movement caught James’ eye; a retreating leather jacket and dark jeans, disappearing down the hallway towards the bathrooms. It took a second for the backpack to register and when it did, James pushed away from the tablet. 

 

“Bucky?” Clint asked, his head up and following James’ gaze.

 

“... just in: The Ten Rings, the terrorist group believed responsible for kidnapping Tony Stark, has claimed responsibility for another abduction. Virginia Potts, Director of the Maria Stark Foundation, was taken earlier today …” 

 

“We’ve got trouble,” Bucky tossed out as he headed after the figure, laser focused on the potential threat. 

 

Knowing the others had his back … and wasn’t that a great feeling after working alone for so long? …  he methodically checked door-by-door, just like he’d learned in the army, clearing each space before moving on.  He even invaded the women’s bathroom which, thankfully, was empty as he opened the door to each stall. And it was a good thing he did; tucked in the corner of one of them, wedged between the toilet and the back wall, he found the nondescript black backpack.

 

“Bomb?” Tony asked, peering over his shoulder.  

 

Easing the zipper open, he folded the front down; the metal lid of a pressure cooker glinted in the dim light, grey putty of C4 molded around the valve stem. 

 

“Basic pipe bomb,” Tony said, nudging James out of the way and kneeling to get a better look. “Cellular trigger; go find the bad guy and get their phone away from them. I’ve got this.” 

 

He passed Phil in the hall, phone pressed to his ear, talking calmly to someone; in the distance he could hear Clint directing people to safety, probably with some made up story about swamp gas or PTSD triggers.  None of that mattered as he pressed the bar on the back door and strode out into the alley.

 

The first hit took him by surprise; he rolled with it, taking the brunt of the force and using it to spin around. He got a  flash of dark eyes and scarred face before his punch landed in the man’s jaw, snapping his head sideways and sending blood spatter over the dirty concrete. Trading blows, James went all out, not holding anything back; the fucker intended to bomb a crowded restaurant, so he deserved what he got. Only when the man was on the ground, cradling a broken arm and gasping for breath, did James recognize him. 

 

“Rumlow.” He spit the name out and added a kick to the man’s waist as he tried to rise. “Sadistic son-of-a-bitch. Stay down.” 

 

“Doesn’t matter.” Rumlow coughed as blood ran out of the corner of his mouth. With his good hand, he took a phone from his pocket. “Bomb’s away, Barnes. Kiss your ass goodbye.” 

 

He pressed the call button.. 

 

Nothing happened. 

 

Rumlow pressed it again. 

 

“Thing about imitating homemade bombs to look like a terrorist?” Tony drawled, stepping into the alley. “They’re easily defused.” 

 

“Steve’s on his way,” Phil supplied, joining them. “He’ll lock this guy up with the others and keep them out-of-sight until tomorrow.  Fury’s given the okay.”

 

“So this is what it feels like to have friends,” Tony said. “I kind of like it.” 

 

So did James.

* * *

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have a statement to make and then I’ll take questions.” Obediah raised his voice to be heard over the din.  

 

With Pepper’s kidnapping and the attempted bombing, not to mention the strategically leaked details about Tony’s suspension and mental health, they’d had to move the press conference to the main lobby to accommodate all the press people who’d requested passes. Even then, the sidewalk was filled with still more people stacked two and three deep to watch the proceedings.  Already there were demands for explanations, and Stane was more than prepared to give the media a couple of fall guys tied up with a nice neat bow. 

 

“When Howard Stark and I started this business,” Stane began, “we wanted to make the future brighter though science and technology. We were young, idealistic, and believed we had all the time in the world to help as many people as we could, building a company that we could pass on to our children and our children’s children.” 

 

He paused for dramatic effect; the story of his wife’s infertility and her early death was widely known. 

 

“I stand here today, an older, and I hope, wiser man; family, I’ve come to realize, is more than just blood, it’s the people we love and those who love us. In a time when the dangers of ISIS and the Ten Rings are so close, we must take care of each other and be proactive in our response to such evil.  I’ve directed SI employees to give all aid possible in the search for Virginia Potts, whom I consider part of my family.  We stand ready to offer the best we have to the U.S. Military and Government to do whatever necessary to see her home safely.” 

 

The reporters tapped away on tablets, held up phones to record, and a few scratched pens across paper as he let the words sink in. 

 

“Also, I’m announcing the temporary sabbatical of Tony Stark, a man I love like my own son, from the position of CEO of Stark Industries. The best thing for Tony right now is rest and recuperation from his recent ordeal; I want him healthy and whole so he can spend too much money on fast cars and new projects in the future.”

 

A murmur ran through the crowd; they’d expected the news but the carefully worded statement left lots of questions, just like Stane wanted. 

 

“Keeping both Pepper and Tony safe also means seeking out those who have harmed or tried to harm them, some of whom are right here in New York City. As I’ve discovered, Tony has opened his home to a thief and a con man who has been replacing paintings in the Maria Stark Collection.” 

 

He pulled the cover off the painting next to the podium, adding a little flare as he let the canvas drop. Truth be told, he was enjoying this; maybe Tony was right about being the center of attention. Nodding to Pine to begin passing out the prepared folders, he continued. 

 

“This work is a forgery; playing upon Tony’s generosity, Clint Barton stole the original and had his associate, James Barnes, sell it on the black market. The authenticator’s report is the first in your packets and you can see …” 

 

Murmurs arose as papers shuffled. 

 

“... the number of artworks gone missing. Beyond the paintings, I’ve also supplied you with  …” 

 

Whispers grew louder, heads turned and a couple reporters started texting on their phones. 

 

“ … detailed transcripts of conversations between the two …” 

 

“Mr. Stane, excuse me.” The  _ New York Times _ reporter interrupted. “Do you have a statement about this?” He held up one of the papers. 

 

“I’m making it right now, Ben,” Stane snapped. “As I was saying, Barton and Barnes planned to continue their scheme …” 

 

Ben Urich spoke up again. “These are financial statements with payments going to senators, congressmen, the mayor …” 

 

“No, no, that’s not …” Stane stopped, unsure what was happening. “Pine? Where’s Pine? He put the packet together.” He looked around but the dark haired assistant was missing. “Damn it, look, let’s not get sidetracked. I have audio that prove Barton’s into this up to his eyeballs.”

 

Pressing a button on the podium, he started the file.

 

_ “Don’t,”  _ a man’s voice said. _ “Don’t make this harder than it already is. Step away from the safe, nice and slow.”  _

 

_ “Let me call an ambulance for your partner. Whatever’s going on here, we can work it out.”  _

 

_ “No, we can’t.They’re going to kill my sister; her neighbor’s one of them. Damn it, she even gave him a key to feed her cat while she’s out of town. I’ve got no choice.” _

 

Reporters surged to their feet as the tape played; Stane frantically pushed the remote but the voices kept going.

 

_ “There’s always a choice. We can help you, keep her safe.”  _

 

_ “You do know this whole place is wired? Stane’s listening right now. This was supposed to be easy, just put you under suspicion for Garrett’s murder and tarnish your reputation.” _

 

“Fucking hell,” Stane muttered, slamming keys on the remote keyboard to make it stop. 

 

“Is that Federal Agent Quartermaine?” Mark Todd of ABC shouted.

 

“Did you have surveillance on Agent Coulson?” Urich asked. 

 

_ “Didn’t count on killing your partner, did you? John was easy; he was a rogue agent anyway, right?”  _

 

_ “I didn’t kill Garrett; they took care of that. All I had to do was switch some evidence, that’s all. Fuck. My whole career, my life … damn it all to hell.”  _

 

“Who took care of Garrett?” Eddie Brock of  _ The New York Pos _ t asked. “Did you have him killed?”

 

“Damn it!” Stane shouted, finally shutting off the file. “That’s not what’s supposed to be on here. Someone’s been in my computer, messing with my system! It’s not …” He found the video he knew would get their attention. “I didn’t have anything to do with that agent’s death, and here’s proof. A video camera across the street caught Coulson pulling the trigger.” 

 

_ Static filled the screen and then cleared. Kneeling on a dirt floor, hand tied behind his back, bruises and blood covering most of his face, Tony Stark glared at the camera. Behind him stood four men wearing fatigues and a shemaghs covering their head and mouth. In halting English, a voice came from out of the frame. _

 

A taut silence fell in the room as everyone stopped to watch.

 

_ “The deal has changed. Now, his death will cost you five million plus the plans to your buster bombs and the missile system. No one double crosses the Five Rings; pay the money or we’ll drop him close at an American base very much alive.” _

 

_ “Read.” A gun butt nudged Tony in the small of his back; he flinched.  “Read.”   _

 

Out. Stane needed a way out. This was impossible; there was no way anyone could have gotten this file. He’d carefully kept it segregated on his home computer. How did they get to it there?

 

_ Tony looked down, squinted, then coughed; when he spoke, his voice was rough. “Stark Industries is in the business of killing innocents. The blood of the children runs wide as a … who came up with this ? Seriously you need a better scriptwriter …” He groaned as the gun hit him hard, his spine spasming from the pressure. “Fine, but it’s derivative drivel … as a river.  Allah’s wrath will destroy all infidels and those who profit from the pain of true believers … yada, yada, yada … you do know jihad doesn’t actually mean …”  _

Stane stepped away from the podium; the route to the elevator banks was clear. There was stairwell access just beyond. If only he could ...

 

_ One of them punched Tony and he hit his head hard on the cement floor; two of them grabbed him under his arms and dragged him towards the door.  _

 

_ “We had a deal, Stane. Pay or the world will know.”  _

 

Two steps backwards and Stane hit a brick wall in the form of Agent Steve Rogers and Special Agent Nick Fury. 

 

“Obediah Stane, you’re under arrest for the kidnapping and attempted murder of Anthony Stark, the attempted kidnapping of Virginia Potts, the attempted bombing of Fonda restaurant, and the murder of Agents Garrett and Donaldson, just to name a few.” Fury drew himself up to his full height. “You’ve been a bad boy, Stane. Time to pay the piper.” 

 

“No.” He didn’t struggle as they cuffed him, his brain racing ahead to find a way out of this. “I’m being framed! I didn’t do any of this. Pine! Where’s Pine? Someone call my lawyer. He’ll eat you for breakfast, Fury, and I’ll be out by dinner time.” 

 

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Rogers said. “We’ve got statements from five of the men you hired to do your dirty work; you might want to get used to the idea of wearing orange.”

 

“You’re on their side,” Stane accused, trying to pull away from the agent’s hold. “Barnes is your friend! I bet you’re in on it too. You’re all dirty.”

 

Cameras were rolling, reporters thumbing through who knew what files in their packets, the video of Tony running on an endless loop.  Obediah grew angrier with each passing second, being dragged along by Rogers and a female agent.  

 

“Find Pine!” he shouted to a familiar face, another assistant who scuttled out of the way. “Damn it, where is …” 

 

Through the plate glass, he saw them.  Pine standing on the left, hands in his pocket, tie loosened and sleeves rolled up.  Next to him, Clint Barton, a smug grin on his face, leaning against a UPS drop box, smiling and waving at him. Phil Coulson, his grin smug.. That red head … what was her name? Nicole, Naomi, Natalie … who’d been with Pepper. Barnes, the arrogance son-of-a-bitch, gave a jaunty little salute when he met Stane’s eyes. Sam Wilson wearing a Para Rescue t-shirt and … fuck it all … was that his driver, Melinda? Why was she …

 

“You meddling bunch of assholes!” Stane jerked out of Rogers’ hold and lunged for the window. “I know it was you! I’ll get you, I promise. This isn’t over! I’ll make sure you pay!!

 

His face mashed into the glass as the agent jammed her elbow in his back. “Calm down,” she said, voice as icy as a glacier. “Or the New York media will see you get your ass kicked by a tiny pregnant woman.” 

 

* * *

 

“All right, all right, settle down, now.” Tony walked up to the podium, Pepper right behind him. “I’ve got answers, if you can be good girls and boys and play nice.”

 

As Stane disappeared out the back, some of the camera operators followed, but most of the reporters gathered to hear what Tony had to say.

 

“Obviously, Obie will be taking some time away from the company; I hope he gets the help he so desperately needs …” Tony began. 

 

“Mr. Stark, is this blood analysis right? Was Stane drugging you to make you appear to have PTSD?” 

 

“Who is Amora and why was Stane paying her every month?”   
  


“Was Ms. Potts’ kidnapping a fake or was an attempt made on her life?” 

 

“What about last night’s attempted bombing? Was that meant for you?” 

 

“Are you stepping down as CEO still?” 

 

“Ah, now there’s a good place to start.  One thing Obie got right was that I need to deal with what happened to me, not just in Afghanistan, but the betrayal of a man I thought of as an uncle. So, yes, I’m still taking a sabbatical; in my stead, I’m naming Virginia Potts as acting CEO of Stark Industries …” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I patterning this after White Collar, I've taken liberties with how this would really happen. Legalities and the realism isn't part of the fun of bringing down a criminal like Stane. Just sit back and enjoy and don't think to hard about it.


	6. The Bali Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends part ways, Phil makes a decision, Clint's surprised, and the end may just be the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are. The last chapter of the White Collar AU. I hope you've all enjoyed this arc of stories. I know I certainly have. Writing a plot that encompasses six stories has challenged me, especially once I settled on the ending way back in story #3. Let me know what you think of the whole ride. :)

“That was quite delightful,” Loki said. “You know how to show a guy a good time, Barton.” 

 

“I promised it would be worth it,” Clint replied. 

 

Inside the building, Nick skirted around the reporters, ignoring any who tried to talk to him, heading for the front doors. 

 

“And that’s my cue to leave.” Loki leaned towards Clint until he saw Phil’s steady gaze’ he opted for a quick buss on Clint’s cheek. “Call me next time you have a crazy idea. I could retire early.” 

 

Disappearing in the crowd, Loki melted away before Phil could give him a shovel speech about not taking advantage of Tony.  He was pretty sure that was a moot point already; Tony was generous to a fault anyway and could take care of himself. 

 

“Hey, man, I’ve got a shift at the VA,” Sam said with a wave. “Drop by the club and let’s have a drink to celebrate after the show. My treat.” 

 

Melinda’s hand on his arm turned Phil her way.

 

“You sticking around the city?” Phil asked her. 

 

“I’m catching a train to Philadelphia; Andrew’s at a conference downtown.  With all the data Stick gave us, I can work on the files while he’s at his panels. Might even get to Morimoto’s for sushi.” Her smile lit up her face, and Phil was happy for her. “Don’t worry, this isn’t the last time you’ll see me. Now that you’ve left the straight and narrow, I just might need your help in the future.” 

 

“Just might, huh?” Phil ignored her hand and went in for a hug. “Thank you for this, Mel. I owe you one.” 

 

She pressed an SD card  in his palm and whispered in his ear. “This is for you, if you want another option.” 

 

Pulling back, Phil cocked his head and looked at her. “Another option?” 

 

“Sue me. I like seeing you happy; you deserve it.” 

 

With that she walked away, easily negotiating the large crowd that was trying to get a view of Tony and Pepper’s ongoing press conference. 

 

“Alright, Phil, enough time off. I’ve got to smooth some ruffled feathers then I better see your ass back in the office. 4:30 or 5:00,” Fury said, pausing in front of Phil. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.” 

 

“Yes, sir,” Phil answered, a knot forming in his gut and twisting tight. Getting his badge and gun back was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Thing was, he wasn’t sure anymore. 

 

“Told you you’d be reinstated,” Clint said, and Phil realized it was just the two of them. 

 

“Yeah, you did,” he replied, ignoring the elephant in the room. “What happened to James and Natasha?” 

 

“Nat said she had something to do, and James looked like a puppy that’s been kicked before he left to get more sleep.” Clint snorted a little laugh. “He needs learn to read her better than that; she’s got some surprise set up for him, I’ll wager.”

 

“Something tells me James will come up to speed fast.” 

 

Phil glanced around, and, suddenly, was without something to say. The afternoon loomed empty before them, no plans to make, no one to watch out for, nowhere to be. Clint’s smile faltered, his facade of control slipping. 

 

“You want to get something to eat? You just had coffee for breakfast,” Clint said, the words coming out in one long rush of air. “Or not. You might want to catch a nap before …” 

 

“Food’s good.” Phil jumped in. “I saw the Go Burger truck a block or two over …” 

 

“Big Daddy’s on the way back … if we go to the mansion …” 

 

“... or just stop at that little Greek place for shawarma …” 

 

They stopped for a breath and then laughed together.  That little break in Clint’s half-chuckle, half-snort decided it for Phil. 

 

“Big Daddy’s delivers,” Phl said. “We can order in the taxi on the way.” 

 

Like that, the clouds cleared from Clint’s brow, and his smile brought back the sun. 

 

“That’s a plan I can get onboard with,” he agreed. 

 

There were still details to settle, loose ends to tie off. In the cab, Phil touched base with Maria about the status of his house, and Clint made some calls of his own. By the time they arrived, lunch time traffic snarled as usual, the delivery guy was only minutes behind them with a full paper bag and cold milkshakes. 

 

They ate on the balcony, sun warm and breeze cool, and talked about James and Natasha’s courtship dance, took guesses at what paintings Loki had slipped out of the SI building, threw out possible names for Maria and Bruce’s baby, and gossiped about Darcy’s new boyfriend. When they were done, they cleaned up, Phil rinsing out the milkshake cups before throwing them away while Clint gathered the paper wrappings and dropping them in the recycle bin. 

 

Catching Clint as he stepped back, Phil reeled him in for a kiss. No words needed, they came together, a slow, sweet dance of touch and stroke, breathe and moan, circle and nudge. Clothes were peeled off with easy hands, smiles and laughter as often as groans and closed eyes.  So much skin to kiss, so many muscles to trace. When Phil spread Clint out on the bed, he couldn’t help but sigh at the sight of tan and taut belly, flush cock and smug grin. And when he sank deep inside, Phil chased that smugness with his mouth and tongue, a slow climb to the pinnacle and effortless drop off together. 

 

“What’s the first thing you’re going to do when …” Phil tapped the ankle monitor with his toe. 

 

Sprawled over Phil’s chest, legs tangled together, Clint’s eyes were only half-open, his body relaxed. 

 

“Paris. I’m going to Paris.  Have breakfast at a little cafe then spend the day at the Louvre or hit some antique stores.” He sighed. “Or Istanbul. Ever been to the Hagia Sophia? Gorgeous. Now, that’s where you get a real cup of coffee. Maybe Nairobi. Lake Turkana is one of the most beautiful places on Earth.” Eyes closed, his breathing evened out. “I know. Bali. There’s this resort up in the mountains. Individual villas with infinite pools that fall off the edge. First class service, gourmet food … we could could stay in bed all day or swing in the hammocks with views of the ocean. You might even get a tan …” 

 

Phil laid awake for a long time, watching Clint’s back rise and fall with each breath. 

* * *

 

“Steve really needs to get better security for this place.”  Natasha stepped out of the kitchen area, glass of wine in her hand. “You took your sweet time coming back.” 

 

“Thought you had something to do.” James shut the door and locked it behind him. He put the two bags of groceries on the small countertop. 

 

“I did.” She tilted her head; a stray curl caught on her earring. 

 

“Will I ever understand how your brain works?” James asked. 

 

“Do you really want to?” she replied. 

 

“Nah.” He reached for her, and she came into his arms willingly. “That’s half the fun.” 

 

Her lips were as sweet as the plums he’d bought at the store, juicy with just a hint of a bite. Sweeter than expected, Natasha’s taste filled his mouth like the soft curves of her hips filled his hands. He’d thought their first time would be fast, a desperate coming together, but, when he got her shirt off, she cupped his hands under her breasts and arched her back into the sensation, a slow stretch that set a more sedate pace. Her nipples puckered beneath his fingers, her breath hitched, and he lost himself in the feel of her skin. 

 

She wasn’t perfect, not by any measure, but exactly what James wanted and everything he needed. Stretched out on the bed, rose blushed skin against navy sheets, she was curves and hard angles, soft inner thighs and hard muscular abs. He tasted it all, delving his tongue for her the flushed clit, taking his time, enjoying every twitch and breathy moan. When she flipped him over, straddled his hips and slid down, taking him deep, he refused to close his eyes in case this was just another dream and not reality. 

 

When James flopped on his back, sweat cooling on his chest, Natasha rolled off and padding into the living room, disappearing out of sight. As she clattered around, he imagined her slipping back into her clothes, getting ready to step out the door and out of his life. Always a possibility that she’d want nothing more than a one night stand, James thought he’d come to terms with it, only to realize once was not going to be enough. He swung himself up, took a towel from the nearby hamper and cleaned up. At least he could go say goodbye, leave things on a good note. 

 

“I couldn’t find another clean wine glass, so you’ll have to use a tumblr.” Natasha had her hands full with the bottle and glasses, a plastic grocery bag slung over her wrist.  “Why am I surprised to find you eat organic fruit and farmer’s market cheese?” 

 

Unfazed by her nudity, she poured them both some wine, climbed on the bed and unpacked a block of sharp cheddar, crackers, almond butter, and more.

 

“Got to keep in shape,” James replied when his brain started working again.  He plumped a pillow, sat back, and reached for a plum. “I’m not getting any younger.” 

 

“None of us are.” She looked him square in the eye. “We’ve got to change with the times; can’t keep doing the same thing over and over.” 

 

“That’s true,” he agreed. 

 

“Now.” She shifted around to lean against his side. “How do you feel about Madrid? Rumor has it there’s a Nikolai Ge painting that’s surfaced. Private collector, doesn’t care about providence, trades in his mistress for a young model every year.” 

 

“Ms. Romanova, are you trying to seduce me into a life of crime?”

 

“I’ve already done that. Now we’re negotiating our next job.” 

 

“As long as we eat at the Cafe Oriental, I’m game.” 

* * *

 

“Director Rodriguez, may I?” Phil asked. 

 

Looking up from her computer, Rodriguez gave Phil a once over before she answered. “Thanks to this morning’s little explosion, I’m pretty swamped picking up the pieces. Maybe tomorrow or …”

 

“Just a minute is all I need.” Phil pushed the door closed; he laid the SD card on an empty space on the desk, tapping his finger on it. 

 

Her eyes widened then she sat back in her chair. “More evidence on Stane, I take it? You’ll have to get in line.” 

 

“Not exactly.” He’d thought about how to phrase this on the ride over. “You know how Quartermaine was forced to work for Stane because he threatened his sister? Well, it seems he wasn’t the only one Stane was putting the screws to.” 

 

She opened her mouth, paused, let out a long breath, and sagged down into the leather cushions. “What do you want? A promotion? Raise? I can give you both, what with all the positive publicity surrounding this case.” 

 

“Your signature.” He took out the papers from his briefcase, passing them over to her. 

 

“This is what you want?” She looked up from the page, surprise on her face. “You know what it will mean.” 

 

“I’m aware, but it’s only fair.” 

 

PIcking up her pen, she signed in the three marked places, handing it back when she was done. “Now I’ve got to come up with a way to spin this. People in D.C. aren’t going to be happy.” 

 

“Some of them might be relieved now that Stane’s not pulling their strings. Here,” he gave her the SD card. “It’s the only copy. I hope your son enjoys his birthday party.” 

 

“I know I will now.” She offered him a tenuous smile. “Sorry I was such a hard ass …” 

 

“Hey, no. Stane had one thing right; we do what we have to in order to protect those we love.” 

 

His next stop was Nick’s office; as he walked through the bullpen, Steve slapped him on the back, Maria gave him a thumbs up, and Darcy shouted his name all the way across the room, running to give him a big hug. HIs heart grew heavy in his chest as he made his way up the stairs, closing Nick’s door behind him as his friend motioned him inside. 

 

“You’re late,” Nick said. “Been spending too much time with Barton; he’s rubbing off on you.” 

 

The second the words left his mouth, Nick facepalmed; Phil laughed, tension dissolving at the unintended pun. “I think …” 

 

“No. Don’t say a word. I do not need to know about your sex life.”  Nick plunked Phil’s badge and gun down on the edge of his desk. “Here. Take your shit and go get to work. There are piles of forms waiting for you to fill out after the stunt you and your boyfriend pulled this morning.” 

 

The embossed surface of the silver badge caught the light; Phil always kept it polished and clean, just like his gun.  He remembered how it felt the first time; heavy in his hand, the weight of responsibility that came with it. How much he’d loved clipping it on his belt and flashing it when needed. That had been when he believed the system meant something, that good won out in the end if you followed the rules and played well with others. 

 

“Well? What are you waiting for?” Nick practically barked. 

 

When Phil had left the mansion, Clint had still been in bed, sheet wrapped around his legs, stretching his arms as he woke up. Stepping out that door had been almost impossible even though, or maybe because, Clint never once voiced his opinion about the future. Only the sleepy slip, the plural pronoun rather than singular. We. We could go there. 

 

What had his life amounted to before Clint? A nice townhouse, long hours on the job, and an empty bed. Frustrating cases, endless paperwork, red tape and regulation. Watching bad guys go free on technicalities, getting passed over because he did play the game, putting the little guys in jail while the big fish got off with pricey lawyers and constant appeals. 

 

“Phil.” Nick’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “What’s going on?” 

 

“I’m sorry, Nick,” he started then stopped. “No, I’m not sorry, not really. That’s just a phrase to make this easier.” He pushed the badge and gun back towards Fury. “I’m resigning from the Bureau, effective immediately. I’ll send you a letter first thing in the morning; I know I’ve got a lot of vacation days accrued and I’ll have to deal with the retirement plan …” 

 

“Damn it,” Nick cursed. “I should have seen this coming. You doing this for Barton? Look, you keep it quiet, don’t let people know what’s going on, and I don’t give a shit if you dance the mambo naked seven days a week.” 

 

“It’s not about Clint.” Phil balked at Nick’s gimlet stare. “Okay, yeah, a little bit. He’s the one who made me realize how tightly wound I was.  It’s just … I can do more to help in other ways, Nick. Maybe save a few people, put a few more of the criminals out of business. And get laid on a regular basis, so there’s that.” 

 

“You’re still a damn idealist, you know that? Once you cross that line …” Nick warned. 

 

“Crossed and in the rear view mirror,” Phil admitted. “Long before I was suspended.” 

 

He took the papers out of his briefcase and put them on the desk. “One last favor. Sign these. You know it’s the right thing to do.” 

 

“Jesus, you don’t ask for much, do you?” Nick grumbled, but he signed. “I won’t ask how you got Rodriguez to agree ‘cause I don’t want to know. There. Go live your new life. But you better damn well keep in touch, you understand? Even if I’m not going to pull your ass out of the fire when you land in the frying pan.” 

 

“I’m not going to disappear,” Phil said, tucking the papers safely away. “And you’ll always have my number.” 

 

“Nah, it’s Barton who’s got it.” Nick grinned. “Now get the hell out of my office. Come back tomorrow when we can throw you a surprise party.” 

* * *

 

“Alright, Stark, not that I don’t appreciate a free meal, but I have to ask.” James tossed his napkin on the countertop. “You’re up to something. Why are we here?” 

 

“Why do you assume I’m the one with the nefarious plan?” Tony jumped off his stool and opened the fridge, bringing out a white box tied with string. “Maybe I’m just the guy who brought cannoli.” 

 

“It’s your house, and you knew we were coming,” Natasha said, snatching the lemon cannoli before anyone else moved. “Ergo, you know something. Spill.” 

 

“All I know is Newly Reminted Agent asked me to ask you to dinner. I’m a little miffed he missed the parmesan risotto.” Tony smacked Clint’s hand when he went for the chocolate chip, taking it for himself. 

 

Clint settled for a cherry cannoli, licking a dollop of filling that was about to drop off before biting into the sweet treat. When James and Natasha turned their gaze to him, he shrugged. “I know nothing. Seriously. Haven’t heard a word since Phil left for the office.” 

 

He’d spent the intervening hours hiding his worry with a sweat inducing workout and long swim in Tony’s pool. He’d made a swing through the wine cellar to restock his apartment when Tony had caught him in the hallway and told him about the dinner plans. Sleeping the afternoon away hadn’t been on his agenda, but he didn’t regret the time spent with Phil. Now that he was back on the job, things were going to have to change between them. Clint was used to pretending, hiding his feelings, or at least he used to be. He wasn’t so sure anymore.   
  


“Sorry, I’m late.” Phil sat his briefcase on the stool next to Clint. “Traffic’s still tied up because of all the news vans on the streets. They’re camped out around the Courthouse now as well as the SI building. Ooo, cannolis!” 

 

“No dessert for you,” Natasha said, pulling the box towards her. “Not until you spill the reason why we’re here. Are we on the FBI watch list now? Interpol? The Star Chamber’s after us?” 

 

“You don’t really think there’s a Star Chamber do you?” James asked. 

 

“Iknay on the arstay amberchay,” Clint replied. “Don’t get her started down that black hole.” 

 

“Yeah, Agent Again Coulson. What’s up? You getting promoted for landing a big fish?” Tony jumped in before Natasha could get rolling. . 

 

“Actually, I resigned.” 

 

Clint froze, cannoli halfway to his mouth. He blinked, swiveled his head, and stared; Phil stared back, corner of his lips curling up in that goofy look he got when he was about to make a bad pun. 

 

“What?” Resigned? What did that mean? When had he decided that? Why had he done it? What about … “When?”  Was it because of Clint? Something he said? Was Phil leaving? “Why?” 

 

The others asked questions, but Clint heard them as if at a distance, his mind racing, every emotion in stark relief on his face. All he could focus on was the quirk of Phil’s mouth, the squinty smile lines around his eyes. 

 

“I am no longer an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Can’t call me a Suit anymore.” He never took his eyes off of Clint’s. “As to why, well, we all know that HYDRA’s got its tentacles everywhere; if I stay at the Bureau, I’ll be stonewalled and blocked at every avenue.  Taking down Stane was just step one; if we … if I’m going forward with this, I need to try a different tactic.” 

 

We. Both of them. All of them. Phil had included Clint. Placing the pastry on the counter, Clint brushed his hands free of powdered sugar and thought it through. A different tactic, one that would not be hamstrung by rules and regulations. What could Phil be planning? 

 

“And what happens to Clint? He’s still got to serve his time.” Natasha’s eyes flashed the way they only did when she was defending her makeshift family. 

 

Without answering, Phil drew a set of papers from his briefcase and slid them in front of Clint.  He glanced down.

 

COMMUTATION OF SENTENCE AND OFFICIAL RELEASE FROM ALL PUNISHMENTS AND PUNITIVE RISKS FOR CLINTON FRANCIS BARTON.

 

“Phil?” The word squeezed out of his closed throat. “Is this…?”

 

“Official as of 5:52 p.m. today.” Phil’s smile widened and there was no hiding the tears that welled up in the corner of Clint’s eyes, so he dashed them away with the back of his hand. “If you’d be so kind as to put your foot on the stool rung.” 

 

With a little tool he had in his pocket, Phil popped off the tracking anklet, powered it down and dropped it on the counter. 

 

“Congratulations, Clint. You’re a free man,” he said. 

 

“How? When? I …” He gave up on language and surged up from his seat to plant a very happy, very enthusiastic kiss on Phil’s mouth. 

 

“You must have had this in the works for awhile,” Natasha said, flipping through the official document. “Never thought the Feds would agree to it.” 

 

“Thank Melinda for that. Some people treat the hired help like nothing more than things. She passed along some information that helped.” Phil said. “And Tony’s lawyers drew up the document back when Amora was in town, so it’s iron clad.” 

 

“I don’t know … I mean … I just …” Clint knew he was babbling but couldn’t get his thoughts in the right order to form a sentence. 

 

“First thing we’re going to do is take a long vacation. I hear Bali’s nice.”  He smiled at Clint, a real, open, happy smile. 

 

“And what then? How do you plan to take on something as big as HYDRA by yourself?” James asked. 

 

“Ah, that would be why we’re all here.” Clint put it together, and he barked out a little laugh. “You don’t do things halfway, do you?” 

 

“I don’t like being the last one to know what’s going on,” Tony groused. “Spill it, Phil.” 

 

“You’re right, one person can’t do it alone. But together?” Phil loosened his tie and took a sip from  Clint’s wine glass. “Tony’s the best hacker I’ve ever known; there’s not a computer network he can’t get into.” 

 

“True,” Tony agreed. 

 

“Natasha’s a world class thief; there’s no safe she can’t crack or security system she can’t get past.” 

 

“Aw, Coulson, I didn’t know you cared,” she said and pushed the cannoli box back towards Phil. 

 

“You said it yourself, James. You’re good at protection and taking the hits then hitting back.” Phil picked out a chocolate pastry. “And Clint can con a kid out of their lollipop; he’s the best grifter around.”

 

“A team needs a mastermind,” Clint reminded him. “You caught me when no one else could; you’re the brains.” 

 

“We change our way of thinking,” Phil continued. “Hydra’s inside of corporations and governments; they have all the money, they have all the power, and we know they use it to make regular people, hard working people who play by the rules, go away. If left to their own devices, HYDRA will have them suffering under an enormous weight.” 

 

“So what do you want us to do?” James asked.  

 

“What we do best; we provide …  leverage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I went there. It dawned on me just how similar White Collar and Leverage are in their basic plot structure and once I introduced James/Natasha, I realized I had the perfect team just waiting to be born. If you know the show Leverage, you can see how this last story is the same plot arc of one of the episodes, right down to the characters all standing on the sidelines as the bad guy gets carted away. Actually, a couple eagle eyes out there have made comments about this reminding them of Leverage ... and I got to chuckle to myself when I read them. :))))
> 
> And I didn't pick James for Eliot just because he has the right hair ;D


End file.
